Our Profession and Other Poems Part 16

In human dust we scarcely trust The egotistic pious, Who thinks that he from sin is free-- Not subject to its bias; A holy man does all he can For G.o.d and human kind; He meekly lives, but counsel gives In language pure, refined.

TWILIGHT HOUR.

[Set to Music by Com. T. C. Adams.]

I love to spend the twilight hour When stars their radiance o'er me cast, With that benign mysterious power Which calls up mem'ries of the past, And brings anew the scenes of yore, Like sacred perfume from some shrine Whose hallowed influence ever more Proves life and love of birth divine.

Sweet twilight hour! sweet twilight hour!

How blissful is thy magic power, At thy return new strength is given To lead me to the gates of heaven.

I love at such an hour as this To hold sweet converse with my soul, Antic.i.p.ate a promised bliss, Or memory's charmed page unroll; To feel life's not alone for me, But has some aim, some end, some plan, Which to the soul gives dignity, And leads toward heaven a fellow man.

I love at twilight hour to see The lamps of heaven in glory s.h.i.+ne With beacon-light effulgency, To guide me to that land divine, Where dwell the loved of former years, And where no sorrow e'er may come, Where G.o.d shall wipe away all tears, And I shall find abiding home.

Oh, twilight hour, how sweet thou art!

Thy coming oft relieves my pain, Thy soft communings with my heart Prepare me for life's toils again; Drive thou away my sordid thought, And give my soul augmented power; Teach me to use thee as I ought, Thou holy, blessed twilight hour.

Let us not lose the heritage Our fathers did bequeath To sons whose grasp should hold secure The prize, till hour of death Shall still the heart, and loose the nerve Whose tension holds secure The magic love of Liberty And Justice, strong and pure.

THE HAIR.

Since the days of primal story Of Eden's happy pair, A woman's greatest glory Is her glossy flowing hair; It is a safe criterion By which to judge her life, To ascertain, if duly won, She'd prove a worthy wife.

Its color and arrangement, Its suns.h.i.+ne and its storm Prefigure an estrangement, Or friends.h.i.+p true and warm.

We dearly love the suns.h.i.+ne Of locks with golden hue, That bear this blessed combine-- Kind, tender, warm, and true.

We read volumes of character In every lock of hair; The life, the mind, the heart's prefer Are plainly written there; No printed index could portray The soul's environment, So plainly and so perfectly As capillary bent.

Beware the frouzy, unkempt lock That speaks of negligence; Regard cosmetic's fancy stock Of little consequence; Trust only such as speak of taste Born of a cultured mind, Whose purposes are pure and chaste Whose structure, soft, refined.

A thoughtful mind may lessons draw From faded leaf or broken straw; May beauty see in some lone star That cheers the storm-tossed mariner; May note in solitude some sound Wherein soft harmonies abound; May hear no voice from human lip; Yet dwell in blest companions.h.i.+p.

LIBERTY.

Into the port where Liberty stands Inviting the nations to woo her, Malefactors swarm from foreign lands, Whose tenets would surely undo her.

Criminals, paupers, the ostracised From all countries beyond the great sea, Flock into the land our fathers prized, And baptized "The Sweet Land of the Free."

They come not to build a hearth and home, Or to clear and improve our rich soil, But prowl like wolves that in forest roam, And prey on fruits of our honest toil.

Long were our sh.o.r.es a refuge secure, For the honest, the brave, and the true; With valor and pride, men would endure The trials that for State might accrue.

Men there are yet, who come to our sh.o.r.e, In honor high, of great moral powers, Whose hands give strength to homes we adore, And whose hearts are as loyal as ours.

For these there is room and welcome, too, For there's land quite enough and to spare, But we pray that all the vicious crew To their homes o'er the sea may repair.

Shall we quarantine disease and death, Whose subtle infections float in the air, And grant free power to the pois'nous breath That would strangle our Liberty fair?

Sons of the Nation, arise in might!

And then swear by the G.o.d we adore, This vicious crowd shall be put to flight, And forever debarred from our sh.o.r.e.

Freedom and Liberty need our care, If from wounds we would e'er keep them free, For a frenzied brain would even dare To destroy through base treachery.

Long live the land unto freedom given, And forever may Liberty stand, With beacon flame from the throne of heaven, And a symbol of Light in her hand.

When stars shall fade from the dome of heaven, And sun shall refuse his golden light; When noon of Time shall be changed to even, And earth shall be lost to human sight;

When crash of worlds and revolving spheres Shall lose in chaos, ident.i.ty; And Time shall be measured not by years, But on shall roll through eternity;

Then Liberty's form may sink in dust; But loyal sons shall transported be From the mundane scenes of moth and rust, To the perfect home of Liberty.

I ween that when such an hour as this, Shall marshal friends who have fought and died For the sacred cause of earthly bliss, And Freedom's cause have so magnified,

There shall be a special crown for him Who has stood undaunted in the fight; But the brightest star in the diadem Is steadfast love for the Truth and Right.

"LO," THE DEPARTED.

The Bison strong and the Indian wild Have departed from our plains; The land where they lived has been defiled By man's greed for worldly gains.

The human tide that on them has rolled In merciless energy, In search of that dazzling monarch Gold, Swept on like a mighty sea,

Till their prostrate forms, mingled with clay, Enrich the soil once their own; And naught but waters shrink in dismay, And winds in wild sorrow moan.

O, beautiful lakes and silver streams, May your names their mem'ry keep; Dear mountains, wake from your silent dreams, When your sides so wild and steep,

Shall hear your names in the Indian tongue; And echoes, reverberate The mellow tones of the songs once sung, At the hunter's evening fete.